


Deliver Hope

by actualite



Series: Blue Collar [1]
Category: Baseball RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-11
Updated: 2013-03-11
Packaged: 2017-12-05 00:28:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/716787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actualite/pseuds/actualite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four years after Salty's baseball career ends prematurely, Salty tries not to celebrate his birthday. But there's one person who won't let that happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deliver Hope

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU wherein Salty and Kinsler were in the Rangers' farm system and played in Double A Frisco at the same time.

It's nearly seven o'clock by the time Salty gets home from work and he's aching everywhere. He'd spent most of the day squatting under some low scaffolding and he'd also banged up his thumb pretty bad - the same thumb he'd had surgery on after dislocating it in a work accident the year before. The nail is an ugly reddish purple by now but that doesn't feel nearly as bad as the nagging ache in his right shoulder and the stiffness in his knees.

It's his birthday, actually, and Kason had asked if he wanted to go out for a beer and watch the game but Salty had said no, knowing that Kason would probably want to go to Starz or Hooters and Salty wasn't really in the mood. In fact, he hadn't been in the mood since long before Ashley finally left him almost a year ago, unable to disguise any longer the fact that she was disappointed and disgusted by the way their life together had turned out.

To be honest, Salty feels a bit numb to all of it. Birthdays were special when he was a kid but then every day was special back then. He remembers what it was like to wake up every day excited about what would happen and looking forward to every minute of it. He still tries to believe that good things will come if he just keeps his head down and works hard, but after all the bad luck he had trying to play pro ball, unable to really put it together, and his eventual ignominious release, he's had to try really hard not to let himself slide into embittered pessimism as everything else in his life fell apart.

He unlocks the door to his apartment, a ground floor unit in a complex misleadingly named Ocean Palms. The couple upstairs are already at it, shouting at each other above the noise of their TV, and Salty reminds himself for the hundredth time that he needs to stop at CVS and get some earplugs. He opens his freezer and takes out a couple of frozen entrees, discarding the packaging and double stacking them in the microwave.

Salty purposely left his phone at home when he left that morning because he wanted an excuse for not picking up when his parents called to wish him happy birthday. He didn't want to hear his dad's grating pep talk, full of unrealistic and delusional plans about how Salty was going to make a comeback by signing a minor league deal with another team and showing everyone once and for all that they were all wrong about him. And he doesn't want to hear his mom's bland support of his dad's plans and the way she'll dance around her curiosity about why Ashley left, even all these months later. He's never told them why they broke up or much about why he didn't even really care that they did, but it annoys him the way his mom won't just come out and ask if she really wants to know, like she's hoping he'll confide in her voluntarily once he's ready.

But the guilt has gotten to him a little; their hopes were dashed just as much as his own were when his baseball career ended, if not more, and through it all they've believed in him the way no one else really has, so Salty goes into the bedroom and rummages through the pockets of a dirty pair of pants thrown in the laundry pile in the corner to find his phone. He flips it open and sees that he missed six calls, which is surprising, because there are only probably three people in the world, other than some of the guys at work, who would remember his birthday and want to call him to wish him well.

There's one from his parents and one from his brother but the other four are all one caller, an unknown number. There's a couple of voicemails, so he dials 1 and puts the phone up to his ear.

The first is from his parents, of course. "Hi, honey," his mom says. "Your dad and I just wanted to call and wish you a happy birthday. Hope you're gonna go out and do something fun. We love you. Call us back. Oh, are you going to be able to make it home for the barbecue on Memorial Day? Let us know."

Salty skips to the next message. It begins with some dead air and he's about to delete it, thinking maybe it was a mistaken pocket dial, when he hears someone clear his throat on the other end.

"Uh...hey, Salty, hope this is still your number. It's Kinsler. Ian Kinsler. We were in Double A together. Sorry, man, I didn't really have anyone else to call. You're probably working or something...Are you working? I can't remember if you have a job." There's another pause and Salty unconsciously stands up a little straighter. The message continues. "So I kinda...I'm in Palm Beach and I'm in the ER because I did something stupid and I was wondering if you could, like, pick me up, maybe. They said I shouldn't drive. I don't know. Long story. This is my number if you can call me back. I'll try to figure something out if you're not--if you can't or whatever. Don't worry about it. See you around, maybe. Or something."

Salty has to listen to it again to make sure he's not hallucinating, because the minute he heard Kinsler's voice his heart rate sped up and he got that rushing in his ears just like he used to. He almost laughs the second time through when he hears Kinsler reminding him of how they know each other, as if Salty could forget.

Kinsler's baseball career lasted a little bit longer than Salty's did but not by much. Salty hadn't tried very hard to keep in touch because of how his last few weeks on the team had panned out. They'd been on the team together for a while but it wasn't until just a few months before Salty was released that they really started hanging out outside the clubhouse. Kinsler started inviting Salty to his room to play Halo or Mario Kart, sometimes just the two of them. They'd drink PBR and Salty would watch in amazement as Kinsler would eat entire bags of Twizzlers, chewing constantly and staining his tongue red. Kinsler would make Salty listen to all his favorite music, telling Salty which bands were acceptable to like and which ones were an embarrassment to his manhood, and Salty, who pretty much liked all kinds of music, cheerfully let Kinsler delete huge playlists off his iPod and load it with more respectable choices. They started sitting together on the bus and sometimes, when he was listening to Kinsler talk for almost an entire four-hour bus ride about why The A-Team was the greatest TV show of all time, or lecture Salty on why having a crush on Kelly Kapowski was a huge fucking cliche, Salty forgot about his own struggles and frustration, able to just enjoy listening to how passionately Kinsler espoused every opinion and the enthusiasm with which he told every story. Salty felt a little less lost in the world when he was sitting next to Kinsler in the bus or on the bench in the dugout, or when Kinsler was bossing him around and showing him how to tie a necktie or do his laundry.

Kinsler was really good at baseball, too, but he was the only one in Salty's life to understand that at that point, when Salty was getting so messed up and confused and frustrated by his inability to live up to everyone's expectations, when he was struggling to do even the simplest things he thought he'd mastered in Little League, the last thing he needed was advice on how to play baseball. Salty heard it all, from coaches, from teammates frustrated when he'd allow double steals or flail around looking vainly for passed balls, or when he'd send balls meant to go back to the pitcher out into center field. He heard it from his parents, his parents' friends, scouts, his agent, and from Ashley, who was growing more and more disenchanted with what she'd signed up for in being with him. But Kinsler never tried to give him advice, not about how to play the game. He'd find other ways to help Salty, ways that had nothing to do with baseball at all, and best of all, Salty was pretty sure that Kinsler had no idea he was helping and would've laughed at the very idea.

"The best thing you can do in this game is forget," Kinsler would say. "I read that somewhere. Can't remember who said it."

Salty knew, of course, that Kinsler didn't forget; he had a really good memory and would sit down and make Salty listen to breakdowns of every one of Kinsler's at-bats after each game, and he had a scary ability to recall every slight and insult by players on other teams so he was always ready to bring that anger to their next encounter. But Salty could also see that even though Kinsler accounted for all these things, he played like he didn't, like nothing was weighing him down. Salty wanted to be like that. He wanted to stop carrying expectations and mistakes, to recapture the way he felt as a child, when every day was new.

The funny thing was, Salty felt like he was actually getting better right before that day he'd been told he would be released. He'd been fighting hard to earn his job, getting to the ballpark early every morning and spending hours of extra time developing drills and workout routines to try to overcome his problems. He'd even agreed to see a psychologist, and while it helped to have someone apart from the sport to talk about his struggles with, most of what Salty needed was confidence, and Kinsler was giving it to him. Salty didn't understand why or how he felt stronger and better and more in control of himself when all he did was follow Kinsler around and do what Kinsler told him to do, but he did. He was proud of having Kinsler for a friend, proud that Kinsler wanted him around, and knowing that Kinsler thought he could be a major league catcher was a bigger confidence boost than just about anything.

But then one night after they'd won a blowout game against the Rockhounds Kinsler had gotten so drunk he could barely walk. Salty had had to sling Kinsler over his shoulder and carry him back to his own room, and when they got there he leaned over to slide Kinsler off. Kinsler stumbled a bit and Salty caught him, and then Kinsler had looked up at him, his eyes startingly clear and his mouth curved up in a smile. Salty felt a sudden dip in his stomach, looking down at him, and all at once he was more sure than he'd ever been about anything that there was an invitation in Kinsler's smile. Something drew him in, and when he thought about it afterwards, running over and over it in his mind, all he could remember was the feeling of conviction, of knowing that what he was doing was right, perhaps the best thing he would ever do.

Of course, that must've been the alcohol, because just as he felt Kinsler's small hand clutch at his shirt collar, another door opened down the hallway and two of the other guys on the team came out. They stared at Salty and Kinsler for a moment, and in an instant Salty realized the position they were in, Kinsler's back against the wall and Salty holding him up and leaning over him, his legs between Kinsler's. Kinsler shoved him away quickly, fumbling in his pockets for his key. The other guys didn't say anything, just walked by them and stared, and by the time they were gone Kinsler had gotten his door open and shut it in Salty's face.

Feeling like it was his fault and worried that Kinsler would blame him, Salty resolved to try to give Kinsler some space for the next few days, but the effort was wasted because Kinsler didn't come anywhere near him. Salty's game suffered even more than it had been already and he was caught in an endless cycle of blaming himself, wondering what he'd been thinking, and wishing things had gone very differently. He couldn't tell anyone about what had happened, not even his psychologist and especially not his parents, and Kinsler would barely even look at him. Aside from Kinsler Salty didn't really have any other friends on the team and he was left alone most of the time to worry about what the fallout would be. He wondered if he was imagining the looks he was getting from his teammates, but when a pitcher shrugged his hand off irritably during a mound visit his fears were confirmed.

His throws grew more and more erratic and he became almost resigned to the fact that nothing could ever make this better, and the team had no reason to keep giving him chances, because there were too many guys waiting to take his place. By the time he was called in to speak to the manager he knew what was coming. He thought he could handle the humiliation of the speech that would include some variation of "I'm sorry, son," but what he was not prepared for was the implication that there had been several complaints about him from teammates and that many of them just didn't feel comfortable around him.

"What you need is a fresh start somewhere, and you'll probably get it if you play your cards right," the manager said, but his face was hard and he didn't seem much interested in helping Salty make that happen. Rumors like the one they were obliquely referring to here were not ones that died quickly, Salty knew.

As he left the office to pack up his things he wondered how he would tell his parents, how he would tell Ashley, what he would do with his life now, but most of all he worried that Ian would be similarly tainted by this. He wanted badly to talk to him and to apologize, but the clubhouse was mostly empty, Salty having arrived at the ballpark a good hour before everyone else. There was no reason to stick around and wait, given that Kinsler probably woudn't speak to him anyway, so he got a piece of paper and a pencil and wrote a note for him, which he stuck in Kinsler's locker and hoped would be found. If Kinsler did find it Salty never knew, because he didn't hear from Kinsler, not then and not any time after. Salty took a little comfort in the fact that even if the rumor had tainted Kinsler, he was too good a ballplayer for the club to give up on, whereas with Salty the complaints had probably been just another on a long list of reasons to release him.

It was during winter ball just after that season that Kinsler was injured in a collision when another player had slid into second base and spiked him. The collision shattered his femur and he was told he would never be able to play again, all of which Salty heard from news reports. He'd done a lot of rehab but after countless setbacks the club cut their losses and Kinsler was released. Salty tried calling him to express his condolences and maybe apologize in person for what had happened between them, but Kinsler's phone number had been disconnected.

Now, four years later, Salty is sitting down on his bed, his heart racing as he stares down at his phone and wonders what this means, that Kinsler is trying to reach him now. Suddenly afraid that it might be too late, he frantically checks the time stamp on the message, and it's 6:45, almost twenty minutes ago. His hands feel a little unsteady as he dials the number to call Kinsler back. It could just be that Kinsler is stranded and Salty is the only person near Palm Beach who could help him out, but what is Kinsler even doing here? And alone? And why on Salty's birthday?

The phone rings five times and Salty feels disappointment begin to flood through him, thinking Kinsler isn't going to answer, when suddenly Kinsler picks up.

"'lo?" he says.

"Hi," Salty says, his throat dry. "Is this Kins? It's Salty."

There's a long pause, and then Kinsler says, "Hey."

Salty's mind is tripping over itself with all the things he wants to say but doesn't know how to. He can hear some faint voices in the background but Kinsler isn't saying anything and Salty just knows he has to say something, anything, to keep Kinsler from hanging up.

"I got your message," Salty says.

"Oh," Kinsler says, as if it's a message he left weeks ago and he's struggling to remember having done it.

"D'you still need someone to come get you?" Salty says.

"Yeah," Kinsler says. "If you can, I'd appreciate it."

"Which hospital are you at?"

"Um, I think it's called Columbia Hospital or something? Yeah, Columbia. In West Palm Beach."

"Okay, I'm in Wellington, so it's gonna take me about half an hour to get there. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, just a little banged up. I'm just here in the ER waiting area. I appreciate it, man," he repeats.

"No problem, just sit tight. Don't go anywhere."

Kinsler makes a little sound that Salty thinks might be a laugh, and he realizes his own face is split wide in a grin.

"Okay. I won't go anywhere," Kinsler says.

"Good," Salty says. "I'll see you in half an hour."

"Yep."

Salty jumps up, his aching knees and shoulder forgotten, and fumbles for his keys. The microwave is still going but he doesn't care, glad only that he never took off his work boots, and he rushes out of the apartment, running back when he realizes he forgot to lock the door.

He drives a used Ford pickup and it gets horrible gas mileage and he crosses his fingers that it won't overheat on the way. All he can think about is that he's going to see Kinsler again, something he thought would never happen. Every light seems to take forever to change and every car on the freeway is apparently being driven by the worst granny drivers in the state, but finally Salty pulls into the hospital parking lot. He jogs through the automatic sliding doors and into the ER, forcing himself to calm down, and his eyes scan the waiting room quickly.

After what feels like an eternity he spots Kinsler sitting in a corner by the window, and he's staring out of it sightlessly. Salty's heart, which has been racing since he got Kinsler's voicemail, suddenly feels like it stops dead for a moment, everything in him suspended. There's something about Kinsler that will always make Salty feel this way, no matter how much time has passed, as if he's the pivot around which Salty's life turns, always an integral part of whatever new direction he takes. _This has to mean something,_ Salty thinks, unwilling to let himself think that Kinsler called him just because he was convenient.

Salty knows he's sweating a little at his temple and the shirt he's wearing is probably damp in several places - the air conditioning in the truck has never worked very well. He needs a haircut and he's gotten a little thicker around the middle since Kinsler saw him last, but it's too late to worry about any of that now.

He walks over toward Kinsler and takes advantage of the fact that Kinsler hasn't seen him yet to observe how he's changed. There's some kind of plaster over the bridge of Kinsler's nose and a bandage wrapped around the knuckles of one hand, but otherwise he looks okay. He's slightly heavier than Salty remembers him being, but that was four years ago, and back then Kinsler was thin as a rail, his jaw bony and jutting and his waist looking small enough that Salty could encircle it with both hands. Now he's filled out a bit, his angles softer, and he's grown his hair out so that it covers his big ears and the back of his neck. He's hunched down low in the chair, his undamaged hand resting against his mouth in a fist, and he looks troubled, but as Salty gets closer he turns and looks up and his face clears, going blank.

Salty stops right in front of Kinsler and looks down at him, feeling his involuntary grin take over again. He can't help it; everything in him is screaming silently with happiness just to be close to Kinsler again, to see him and feel his eyes looking back. Something somewhere inside him is telling him he's an idiot, since just hearing Kinsler's voice again erased the last four years of a miserable life to make it feel as if they never happened.

He realizes that this is what forgetting really means, and it isn't baseball that he's learned to forget, but love that has made forgetting effortless, erasing everything else that has weighed him down.

"Kins," Salty says happily.

"Hey," Kinsler says. Salty can see the tips of his ears poking through his hair and they look a little red, but maybe that's just sunburn. "Thanks for coming to pick me up. They gave me some pain meds and I can't really drive on my own."

"What happened?" Salty asks, sitting down in the chair next to Kinsler.

"Oh...just walked into a door."

"I heard that before," Salty says.

"Well that's my story and I'm sticking to it," Kinsler says, sounding annoyed.

Salty wishes Kinsler would have stood up so Salty could hug him. Instead Salty just sits down on his hands to keep himself from reaching out to clasp Kinsler's shoulder.

"I'm glad I got your message. I almost didn't check my phone. Wouldn't want to have left you waiting here all night."

"I would've called a cab," Kinsler says, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees and watching some EMTs wheel an empty gurney in through the sliding doors.

Salty refrains from asking why Kinsler didn't just call a cab when Salty didn't pick up the first time.

"Where are you staying?" Salty says.

Kinsler swivels his head around to look back at Salty over his shoulder. He doesn't answer, just watches Salty for a moment and then turns back to watch the gurney's progress again.

Again Salty thinks Kinsler is telling him something without saying the words. He remembers what happened last time he thought this, so he thinks very carefully before deciding that no, there's no reason to be cautious now, not when it feels like they have nothing to lose and everything to gain.

"You want me to take you back to my place?" Salty says.

"I left my wife," Kinsler says.

"I didn't know you were married," Salty says.

"Yeah," Kinsler says. "It was a mistake. Obviously." He reaches up to bite at his thumb nail, then lowers his hand again. "You still with what's her name? Your teacher?"

"No," Salty says. Kinsler always used to say mean things about Ashley.

"I can't go back to the hotel," Kinsler says. "They kicked me out."

"C'mon, then," Salty says, standing up. "Stay with me. It ain't the Grand Hyatt or whatnot but. I'm real happy that you called me, Kins."

Kinsler stands up, pretending to dust his pants off but being kind of gimpy about it with only one hand. "Yeah," he says finally. "I've been meaning to call for a while."

They walk through the ER and out into the parking lot, and all Salty can think about is how he can't believe Kinsler is here and that he's coming home with Salty, until they get to the truck. It looks dingy and old and dirty - Salty can't remember the last time he drove it through a car wash - and the inside still smells like wet dog from when he took his dad's dogs camping last fall. Salty remembers the 1990 Nissan 240sx hatchback Kinsler used to drive in the minors; it wasn't a flashy car by any means, but Kinsler would make him scrape the dirt out of his cleats before he got in. Salty remembers feeling like a giant, squeezing into that little Japanese car, but Kinsler had put bucket seats in that allowed them to sit lower and Salty was always surprised at how easily he fit into it. Then he would sit back and be impressed by Kinsler's driving, the way he could weave smoothly in and out between cars on the freeway and knew exactly when to slow down and follow the rules.

"You still got that 240?" Salty asks as he turns the ignition, trying to distract Kinsler from how gross the pickup must look to him.

"No," Kinsler says. "Sold it after the injury. Tess wanted a Sebring. Fucking piece of shit car."

"So when did you get married?" Salty says, turning out of the parking lot and onto 45th. "I can't believe how long it's been since we seen each other."

"We got married in July, the year after I broke my leg. Didn't really have anything better to do with my summer, since I couldn't play anymore. But at that point she still thought I'd be able to rehab it."

"Didn't you?" Salty says.

Kinsler makes a scoffing noise. "Yeah, I guess I did. Wouldn't have married her if I didn't."

Salty doesn't know that he has any appropriate response to that so he doesn't say anything.

"What about you?" Kinsler asks after a while. "What happened with what's her name?"

"I missed that about you," Salty says simply, "the way you always pretended you didn't remember her name." He means it. Sometimes he wanted to hear it so bad that he would almost call her that to her face.

"Fuck off. I know it starts with an A."

"She didn't love me no more, I guess," Salty says, letting it go. "If she ever did. It was a stupid thing, doing what we did. She left her husband to be with me. I didn't believe what everyone said about the signing bonus, 'cause I thought, even with all that money, how could someone like her put up with me unless she loved me? But then I thought I loved her too. So it all evens out, I guess."

"You still got her name tattooed to your chest?" Kinsler says, looking over at Salty and grinning.

"Yeah," Salty says, smiling. "Gotta have a reminder of the mistakes I made, right?"

"No," Kinsler says, turning back to look out the window again. "Didn't I always tell you that? That's why you were a bust. Don't fuckin' remember. Don't remind yourself."

Salty accepts this rebuke meekly, even gratefully, because he's missed someone telling him what to do. He's missed it a lot.

The rest of the drive passes quietly, Salty asking the occasional question and Kinsler responding, but soon Salty stops trying to sustain the conversation because Kinsler seems preoccupied.

They pull up to the apartment building and get out of the truck, and the building looks even dingier than usual but Kinsler doesn't say anything, just follows Salty to the door of his apartment.

Salty unlocks the door and pushes it open, Kinsler right behind him.

When they were in Double A Salty had a pretty nice apartment and he wishes now that he were bringing Kinsler back to that place instead of this one. The carpet is brown to hide stains, the walls have chips in the paint, and there's a mildew stain spreading across one corner of the ceiling that is below the bathroom in the unit upstairs. There's a ratty sofa that one of Salty's cousins gave to him when she moved to Boulder, the kind that is too soft and sinks down in the middle. And there's a TV sitting on a crate, but it's a 60-inch Sony flat screen, a relic from better days and one of the only things he took when he and Ashley split up. Underneath is an old Xbox console that Salty never bothered to hook up, and in the corner there's a set of weights and a dumbbell. Near the kitchen is a side table with one folding chair next to it and a crucifix hanging above it on the wall. There's one cactus plant in a pot on the window sill above the kitchen sink, but there's not much else in the way of adornment.

Salty knows it has a lingering smell of industrial strength cleaning chemicals, cigarette smoke and bad air fresheners, because that was all he could smell when he first moved in, but he barely notices it by now and hopes Kinsler doesn't find it too unbearable. There's also a faint smell of microwave dinners, but Salty doesn't really want to draw attention to those so he doesn't offer Kinsler one of them.

"You can crash on my bed," Salty says. "I usually just fall asleep on the couch anyway."

Kinsler turns around and the look on his face is strange.

"I'm sorry," Salty says, "it's kind of a shithole, I know. But I'm still paying off Ashley's car and the credit cards. Once that's done with I'll be able to get a better place."

Kinsler still doesn't say anything, just staring at Salty like Salty is some kind of alien life form.

Salty tries to force a smile. He wanted Kinsler to come here with him more than anything but now that he has it doesn't seem like such a good idea after all.

"I shouldn't have brought you here, should I?" Salty says ruefully. "I know it's nothing like what you're used to."

Kinsler looks away, finally. "What do you think I'm used to?"

"I don't know," Salty says. "Something better than this."

"It's your birthday, isn't it?" Kinsler says abruptly.

"Yeah, but I'm not really a big birthday celebration kind of guy," Salty says.

"That's not true," Kinsler says. "I remember on my birthday that one summer you got me a cake with my name on it and brought it into the clubhouse. And you made everyone sing and got me a pair of waders so you could take me fishing with you."

"Did I?" Salty says lamely. He remembers it vividly, of course, and the way Kinsler had looked embarrassed but pleased to have the attention lavished on him. It was a good day; that night Kinsler invited him to go out with him and his friends, and they'd gone bar-hopping. At the end of the night they snuck onto a golf course and Kinsler drunkenly tried to teach Salty how to improve his swing. Gradually everyone went home and the night ended with Kinsler and Salty falling asleep next to each other on Kinsler's couch with Dumb and Dumber playing on the TV. When Salty woke up the next morning Kinsler's face was pressed against Salty's arm and he was drooling a little. It was one of the happiest moments of Salty's life.

"I wanna show you something," Kinsler says, reaching into his pocket, and it takes a moment for Salty to realize that Kinsler's eyes are wet.

Kinsler pulls out a very crumpled piece of paper that looks soft from how much it's been handled, and he holds it out for Salty to take.

When Salty unfolds it he sees his own handwriting.

_I'm sorry for what I did. I hope you will find it in you to forgive me. But please dont forget because I wont.  
Your friend,  
Jarrod Saltalamacchia_

It's the note Salty wrote for Kinsler before he left the day he was released. He folds it up again and raises his head.

"So don't pretend you don't remember," Kinsler says shakily. "I tried to forget, but you were supposed to remember."

"Ian--"

"No," Kinsler says, looking like he's truly crying. "You made it so I couldn't help remembering, and I didn't want to. Is that why we both failed? Because neither of us could forget? I've gone over this so much in my head and I can't stand it anymore. I just keep thinking of that night and wondering--whether it was worth it, what I ran away from, when we've both come to this. And maybe I could've lived with it if you had--if I'd come here and you were--if you were--but this is your life, Salty. I can't--"

"You don't have to feel sorry for me," Salty says quietly. "No matter how things turned out I'll always be glad you counted me as a friend, even for that short little while."

"I wasn't being your friend," Kinsler says angrily, wiping at his face in frustration. "I wanted something from you that I knew would ruin you if you gave it to me, and you were dumb enough to try and give it to me anyway."

"What are you doing here, then?" Salty says. "Why'd you call me on my birthday from a fuckin' hospital in West Palm Beach? I know I'm dumb, Ian, but I ain't that dumb. Everything, all of this that my life has turned into, it's all worth it as long as I know you're for real. Why'd you come?'

Kinsler shakes his head, his shoulders hunching. "I guess I just needed to see you."

"I don't know if you believed me before, but I miss you, Kins. I miss everything about you. I want you here all the time making fun of my tattoos and stealing my socks and beating me at video games and trying to teach me all the words to some rap song about gang banging. I live in this miserable apartment and drive a piece of shit pickup truck and give all my money to pay off a bunch of shit I didn't even want in the first place, but there's not a day goes by that I don't think I could put up with all of it if only you was here too.

"And when I saw you today," Salty continues, "It was like the last four years didn't even happen. Does that mean anything to you?"

Kinsler crosses his arms like he's hugging himself. "I chickened out. I was gonna come see you yesterday but I went and got trashed instead. And I thought if I called you today I'd miss you 'cause you'd be out with your friends or your wife or maybe even your family."

Salty wants to wrap his arms around Kinsler and squeeze so tight he can never get away. "Your call was the best thing that could've happened to me today," he says.

"I can't go back to Tucson, at least not for a while," Kinsler says, looking up at Salty again.

"Then don't," Salty says simply, smiling.

Kinsler's mouth quirks up at the corners too, and Salty thinks maybe it won't be long now before he can reach over whenever he wants and kiss the corner of Kinsler's mouth just because he feels like it.

***

They end up going to Arby's for dinner, even though Kinsler says it hurts his nose to chew.

"I thought you got some good painkillers?" Salty says.

"I just said that so you'd take me home with you," Kinsler says through a mouth full of roast beef sandwich.

Salty realizes he didn't know the meaning of happiness before today.

After they eat Kinsler helps Salty hook up the Xbox and demands that they play Halo while sitting on the floor in front of the TV, and it's not exactly like old times -- it's better, because after Kinsler proves easily how much better at it he is than Salty, he gets up on his knees and goes behind Salty, sliding his arms around Salty's neck from behind and leaning on him. Kinsler is smaller than Salty but Salty loves the heavy warmth of Kinsler's body at his back.

Salty turns quickly and stands up, pulling Kinsler up and then leaning forward to sling Kinsler over his shoulder like he did long ago, and Kinsler yelps as he's carried back to Salty's room, where Salty lays him down on the bed gently so as not to jostle his nose.

Kinsler's face is flushed from laughter and hanging upside down, and his smile fades as he looks up at Salty. He sits up, pushing himself upright with his good hand, and his tongue darts out to wet his lips. There's that invitation in his eyes again, and Salty wonders if he'll ever stop feeling that terrifying coil of desire when he sees it.

Salty leans forward slowly and kisses gently at the corner of Kinsler's mouth, trying as hard as he can to avoid touching Kinsler's nose, but Kinsler reaches around Salty's shoulders and draws him in.

Salty kisses around Kinsler's face, his temples and his cheekbones and his chin, and Kinsler closes his eyes and turns his head to accommodate Salty, letting himself be loved.

It's a warm night and the air conditioning doesn't work so they have the windows open, and they hear the couple fighting upstairs and the sounds of the street as they lie there learning each other. Kinsler has some bruises and cuts all over but he seems to love that everything hurts a little, even asks for Salty to hurt him just a little more.

After, when they're spent and sweaty, Salty gets up to turn the lights off and when he comes back and gets into the bed again, not bothering to untangle the sheet, Kinsler already has his eyes closed.

"Your bed smells like you," he says sleepily. 

Salty reaches over to touch Ian's face briefly and watches him fall asleep.


End file.
